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Melissa squirms helplessly against cold metal restraints. They are tight, squeezing against her wrists, ankles and waist enough to surely leave bruises.
She is restrained to a white table in a large room. It looks like mechanic’s workshop, with shelves and racks full of tools and metal parts. It isn’t exactly the cleanest place she has ever seen. Dark stains decorate the floor- oil? Papers, tools and pieces of metal are scattered across every surface.
Her stomach aches, she feels horribly weak. She was finally given food, but her body hasn’t recovered from days of starvation.
And she is terrified. Why is she here? Why have they strapped her to a table, what are they going to do to her?
She has to calm down. The contract doesn’t matter, they still have to follow the law. They can’t do whatever they want, no matter how powerful they might be. If she just stays calm, this will all work out.
But then, why is she here? Why was she locked in a cell and starved until she signed a terrifying contract, why is she strapped to a table in some workshop? Why has she been left in this room, alone for hours?
The door opens and she jumps. She tries to crane her neck to see who is there, but she can’t. “Who’s there? What’s going on?” She does her best to sound tough, to sound angry.
“Calm down, kid.” She recognises that voice. The tall woman from earlier. “That temper of yours is going to get you killed here.”
“Answer the question!” Melissa snaps, with hot anger borne from cold fear.
“Well, mechanic?” Another voice, this time the tall man frozen earlier. He entirely ignores Melissa, directing his question towards someone else in the room.
And then there are people standing over her. Two are the man and woman, who now have white overalls with blue Vs covering their clothes. The other is also wearing overalls, and their eyes are covered by goggles. They reply. “It’ll have to be replaced when she grows, Handler Brick.” They say. “But she’ll do.”
“Do for what?” Melissa glares. All of their eyes are roaming over her, taking in every inch. She feels an urge to curl up, to protect herself, to hide. But she can’t move to do that. So she is left helpless at the mercy of those cold eyes.
The mechanic ignores her, striding away to the shelves. Melissa tries to crane her neck to see, but she is soon distracted by the woman. “Are you much of a history fan?”
“No.” Melissa says, fixing her with her most withering glare. “You must be, though, with that dress that you wear.” It looks like something out of a documentary, the clothes women wore in the… 20th century? 21st?
“Mind your mouth.” Handler Brick snaps. “Show us some respect.”
“You chained me up, starved me, and now you’ve tied me to a table.” She retorts, her bravery growing with her anger. “I don’t have any respect to show.”
The woman laughs. “Oh, she’s a firecracker. It’s a shame, really.” She tries to pat Melissa on the head. She flinches away. “You will respect us, because that’s the only way this is going to be bearable for you. Understand?”
Melissa tries to headbutt her hand. The woman scoffs. “Well, you’ll learn. Even if it’s painful. Now, history. Centuries ago, a common punishment was to cut off the criminal’s hand.” Melissa’s eyes bug out, and a little noise slips from her throat. It sounds terrified, pitiful. It earns no pity, just a cold look. “That isn’t exactly what we’re going to do. But we’re taking some inspiration.”
Melissa manages a glance over at the mechanic. When she sees what she is gathering- sharp looking tools, knives and saws and screwdrivers- she whimpers. She can’t help it, as much as she wants to act brave. This can’t be happening.
“Oh, do be quiet.” The woman says, looking impatient. “You signed the contract.”
“You forced me to!” Melissa exclaims. “And it didn’t say that you were going to cut off my hand!”
“Arm.” The woman corrects. “And we’re replacing it, with something better. You’re getting a new V-Tech product, completely for free. You know, people pay an arm and a leg for things like this… oh, wait.” She chuckles.
“Actually, Handler Savannah,” Handler Brick says, “she’s becoming the new V-Tech product.”
“Ah, that’s true.” Handler Savannah says.
Melissa can hardly breathe. She whimpers, wriggling helplessly. “Please...”
“Nothing I can do.” The woman is cold, uncaring, like Melissa isn’t a person at all. She seems completely unbothered by Melissa’s all consuming distress and fear. “Now, I’m going to sedate you. And when you wake up, it’ll be done.”
“No, no, please...” Melissa fights and fights. But she soon feels a prick on her arm, and darkness trying to pull her down. The fight drains away, and the darkness soon consumes her.
———
The world is fuzzy, blurry, like an out of focus picture. Melissa groans, far too groggy to understand what is happening. The ground is hard, she is cold. There is a dull pain in her shoulder.
She tries to move, but finds herself stopped by something. She can move, but not too much. And there is something around her right wrist, squeezing tight. It is cold and it hurts, although hurting is hard to feel through the fog.
A sitting position doesn’t feel like an option right now, so she instead lifts her right arm, brings it to her face. A thick, heavy metal band is fastened around it. It squeezes into her skin, leaving red marks. She winces. Then she notices a chain attached to the band, which leads off and away.
Panic shooting through her, she turns her head slightly to see that the chain is attached to a metal hoop low down on the wall. And now memories begin to peek through the fog, waving torches so she can see them. She was captured. Taken. And that workshop…
The world becomes less blurry, more real. She is in a small cell, the same one that she was left in while they waited for her to sign. One wall is simply bars, allowing her to see a clean, sterile white corridor outside. The cell is bare, containing only the hard grey bench that she is lying on, a metal toilet, and a sink.
She puts her hands out to struggle into a sitting position. From her left side, she hears a strange clinking sound. Like metal against metal. The chains, maybe? But strangely, she doesn’t feel the squeezing of the shackle on her left wrist.
She manages to sit up, and rests her aching head against the hard stone wall. She glances down at her left arm, and gasps. Her eyes widen in horror. This can’t be real.
Her left arm is metal. Shiny new metal. Metal. Still staring, she runs her flesh hand over it, finding it is smooth, although with joints in it. She doesn’t feel anything in the metal. She taps it, which makes a dull sound. And she doesn’t feel anything.
In a sudden moment of upset, she punches the metal as hard as possible. Her hand cries out in pain, her knuckles flair to a brilliant red. The area where flesh meets metal screams out, dull ache becoming a piercing, shrieking pain at the rough movement. But the area where she was punched? Nothing. No pain. No feeling.
She isn’t aware of the frightened tears building in her eyes as she stares at the arm. It isn’t quite like a normal arm. It is thinner. And it doesn’t end in a hand. It ends in something that reminds her of the end of a litter picker. She finds that she can open and close it like she would open and close her hand.
There is a shackle locked around the ‘wrist’, tight against the metal. But she can’t feel that. It’s just like a metal stick, attached to her shoulder. Where her arm once was. And now isn’t because they cut off her arm.
It isn’t hard for sobs to fall from her throat. She covers her face with her one remaining hand, fails to push the tears back in. They slip down her face, drip onto the floor. The sobs wrack her body, she heaves with them.
Her shoulder throbs, more and more as whatever painkillers they used wear off. It hurts so much, so so much. But she can still only think about her arm, her arm, she can’t come to terms with it. She can’t understand why this has happened.
She must sit in that cell for hours. Her stomach grumbles, her shoulder screams, and she cries and cries until her tears run out. And then she just rests her face on her knees and desperately tries to wake up from this nightmare.
“Cyborg, you awake?”
Her head flies up, a defensive scowl appearing on her face like a shield. The ‘handlers’ are outside her cell, studying her with cold eyes. “I’m not a cyborg.” She pulls her knees up to her chest, obeying the urge to make herself as small as possible. She tries to wrap her arms around herself, but when the cold metal of her arm touches her she winces and instead holds it as far away as possible.
“You are, actually.” Savannah says, as she scans her eyes and the bars slide back with a subtle whoosh. Brick strides in and takes Melissa’s arm surprisingly gently, studying the join. Melissa looks away, choosing to look up at Savannah instead. “A V-Cyborg, in fact. You’re shaping the future, you know.” She steps closer and points at a spot on the shiny metal.
Melissa notices the V emblazoned on the metal. Carved in, neat and obvious. Making it clear that her arm belongs to V-Tech. And, according to that contract, so does she. “Oh, fantastic.” She says, tearing her eyes away to glare at Savannah. “Shaping the future with a pair of dinosaurs.”
Savannah leans closer. Her eyes glint coldly. “Perhaps I should clarify some things, before you dig yourself further into a hole.” She says. “You are a V-Cyborg. So yes, an experiment, but also a soldier. A weapon for V-Tech, to enforce laws, and take out problematic individuals.”
“What? No, I don’t want to do that.” Melissa says. “I don’t want to kill people.”
“Come on, cyborg.” Savannah goes to pat her on the head. She flinches away- which earns her a sharp slap from Brick. Right on the join between her shoulder and the metal arm. She yowls, pain shooting through her. The message is obvious, clear as a day. When Savannah tries again, she stays as still as possible, accepts the horrible, shiver inducing touch. “What ‘you want’ doesn’t matter anymore. You don’t have a choice.”
Those words echo around Melissa’s head, while Brick works silently on her. While Savannah studies her distressed expression with cold satisfaction. You don’t have a choice.
“You signed away your right to have a choice.” Brick adds. “You signed away all of your rights. So if you misbehave, then we will correct you. Defying us is not in your best interest.”
She needs to escape as soon as possible.
But that isn’t possible right now. Not while she is trapped in a cell, chained up. She just needs to wait, there must be an opportunity to escape.
“This probably needs a week or so to heal.” Brick says, running a cold finger across the joint. She shivers, biting back the urge to shake him off. To yell at him. Defiance is in her nature, obeying these people makes her want to throw up.
“Verliezer wants results as soon as possible.” Savannah reminds him. They both scowl, in a way that would be funny if it wasn’t for the situation.
“Three days, then.” Brick decides.
“Three days until what? What weapon?” Melissa asks. Brick slaps her again, harder, and she cries out in pain.
“Cyborg, you’re a weapon. Not a music box.” Savannah knocks on her metal arm. Pain rushes through her when that join is disturbed. She bites the inside of her mouth to stop herself from crying out. “You aren’t going to talk unless we ask you to. Alright?”
Melissa nods mutely. Brick squeezes her shoulder roughly. “Good cyborg. Right, then I think we’re done here.”
“It probably needs fed.” Savannah remarks.
“Again? I’ll call someone.” Handler sighs. “You are a right pain, cyborg. I hope you’re worth it.”
Melissa bites the inside of her mouth, chokes back a snarky retort. This isn’t fair. She’s cold, in pain, frightened, she just wants to go home. She wants her dad. But instead she is chained up in a cell, being treated like an object by two cruel people. Tears start to sneak out again. So they weren’t used up, after all. There are always more.
Savannah stops before she leaves. She turns back, crouches next to Melissa. When she reaches for her face, Melissa flinches roughly. She can’t help it, and then she flinches again, expecting pain. Instead, Savannah grabs her face. Roughly swipes a tear away with her thumb. When Melissa tries to pull away, Savannah squeezes tighter, her fingers digging into Melissa’s flesh and hurting. “No, cyborg. No crying. We don’t need a weapon that cries.”
She forces eye contact, holds her face there. Melissa takes several shuddering breaths, desperately trying to stop crying. She can’t. She’s scared. She’s upset. She can’t stop crying. But Savannah keeps holding her there until finally the tears stop falling. “Good. From now on, cyborg, you only cry when you’re alone. Ok?”
Melissa nods. She holds her breath, because she knows that if she doesn’t she will start crying again.
And then they leave her alone. And she allows the tears to fall.
———
She cries herself to sleep. When she wakes up, she has food and water. So she eats and drinks. She paces as much as she can in her chains. She stares at the ceiling. She cries. She sleeps. She repeats it all a few times.
And then her handlers are there again. She freezes as soon as she sees them, fear shooting through her. The door opens and the Savannah immediately grabs her arm to examine the join again. She doesn’t bother trying to struggle.
“I’d prefer a few more days, but it’ll do.” Savannah taps it roughly. So Brick starts undoing the heavy chains. The weight is lifted, suddenly she is free. Immediately she tears herself away, ignoring the searing pain, and tries to run.
She is weak, in pain. She only gets a few steps down the corridor before she is grabbed. Rough hands pull her back, throw her to the floor. She yelps, glaring up at them. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
“You get one more chance.” Comes the threat. “Or you’re going to regret it.”
Melissa’s glare only deepens, defiance glinting in her grey eyes. “No.” She spits. “You can’t make me do anything.”
It can probably only be a few minutes later than she is hauled to her feet by tight grips on her arms. The pain at the joint is ten times worse, hot and burning. And her new bruises throb and ache.
She is dragged down the corridor, which just exacerbates the pain in her arm. It is excruciating, but she refuses to react.
Brick scans his eyes to enter another room. This one is quite large. Most of it is taken up by what looks like a shooting range. The portion they are standing in is blocked from the range by a large glass window, and the shorter metal wall the glass is secured into. There are some round gaps between the glass and metal.
“Arm.” Savannah orders. Glaring shakily, Melissa holds out her metal arm. Savannah unscrews the claw like end, replacing it with something shaped like a cone. It is heavier, weighing Melissa’s arm down quite a lot. Then Savannah steers her arm into the metal wall and screws it in. “Just in case you have any funny ideas about turning that on us.”
“Is this a weapon?” Melissa turns it around as much as she can while it is restrained. “What does it do?”
“Try it out.” Brick says. “There are targets in there,” There are indeed targets, shaped like people, “try shooting at them.”
Hesitantly, Melissa points her arm at the middle target and fires. What looks like a burst of blue flame flies across the range and hits the target. Which now has a hole burnt in the centre. “Whoa!” Melissa exclaims, surprised.
“Perfect!” A very familiar voice exclaims. “Exactly as intended.”
Melissa turns her head so sharply that it hurts. Standing in the doorway is Victor Verliezer himself, looking pleased. Melissa’s blood boils, seeing the reason that she is here. The source of all of this. “Can I get a better look at her, handlers?”
“Of course, sir.” Brick takes a tight hold of Melissa, while Savannah frees her arm and unscrews the weapon. Verliezer strides closer and grabs her by the shoulders. She tenses, his hands feeling like cold clamps. She bites back a bitter remark as he studies her, like a particularly fascinating bug. His eyes roam all over, and she has to resist the urge to curl up in a ball. Or punch him.
“Some bruising.” He remarks, glancing back at Brick and Savannah. “Don’t tell me that she’s still resisting.”
“We’re working on it.” Savannah says. “She just needs some… training.”
“I’m sure that you can handle it.” Verliezer smiles coldly. “Either way, I am pleased by my new weapon.”
Horrified anger flashes through Melissa. She yanks her shoulder away and swings her metal arm at the horrible man in front of her.
He yelps when it collides with his smug face. Bitter satisfaction floods through her, even when she is grabbed and thrown against the hard metal. She crumples to the ground, but can’t help but grin through the pain. “I’m never going to stop resisting.”
Verliezer rubs the bruise forming on his face and scowls. “Give me the taser.” He orders Savannah. Savannah hands him the metal weapon from her waist. Fear strikes Melissa and she tries to shuffle away, but she hits the wall and has to stop. All she can do is shrink down as he advances. “You will, whether you do it today or later. We have no use for a weapon that can’t take orders.”